Light Me Up
by chloeedawsonx
Summary: Phil gets the same nightmare every night, but what is truly behind it? Rated K for slight fluff, tiny bit of cute Phan and heartbreak 3


It happened every night.

He would wake from the same nightmare, yelling into the darkness and thrashing the covers until he was completely awake and covered in a fine layer of sweat, his blue eyes wide and fearful.

It was always the same, never changing. Even now he still saw it.

He saw himself, a simple boy, somebody he hardly recognised nowadays. He was happy, though he was not quite sure why.

There was an unrecognised country lane, sunlight hitting the blades of grass that surrounded an emerald field of fresh daisies from beyond an old stone wall that seemed to travel for miles. He was following it, the sky a beautiful baby blue. He pushes his falling sunglasses back up and continues walking.

A laugh appears from beside him. He looks in the direction of it and butterflies fill his empty stomach as he watches the beauty that was his soul mate beaming, the light never leaving his tender brown eyes. He watched every one of his graceful moves, wondering how he was lucky enough to even be in the same universe as him. He smiles towards the boy, and follows the gravel path back along the country lane, the boy not far behind. He soon catches up, and they clasp hands tightly, walking side by side.

They reach a spot in the field, a worn down patch of grass that resided in between two apple trees, the country lane a mere dot in the distance. The field looked out onto a cliff, with an ocean that could be seen shimmering underneath the sunset, what was left of the light dancing upon each wave that rolled onto the shore.

The brown-haired boy speaks to him- "Isn't it beautiful?", mirroring his innermost thoughts. He nods gently.

They sit down on the patch of grass, still holding hands.

Soon enough, the sun goes down and they are left with a deep navy-black sky, littered with stars. He feels a squeeze on his hand and looks towards the boy sat beside him. He lets his head lean on his leather-coated shoulder and slowly closes his eyes.

That world goes dark, dim, and a screech of brakes jerks his eyes back open. He was no longer in a field at night, instead he was next to a busy road in London with other passer-by's, his feet unable to move.

There was an almighty scream, followed by shocked gasps and a thud loud enough to stop everybody in their tracks.

His legs come as to life as he sprints towards the front of the red car that has stopped in the middle of the road, one door open as a man gets out and holds his hands over his mouth, desperately stuttering something along the lines of an apology. He ignores this and sprints faster, not stopping until he reaches the car.

The brunette was laid on the floor, eyes firmly shut and mouth agape. His legs feel weak as he falls hard to his knees beside the boy on the concrete. A single trickle of blood runs down the boy's head, forming a crimson puddle on the floor. He begins to yell the boy's name, louder and louder until he is almost screaming, his arms pulling him closer to his body and wrapping tightly around his fragile frame. He yells for the boy to wake up, to stop joking, to not be dead, but he knows the truth. The world becomes bleary as his eyes fill with tears which run fast down his face and into the boy's neck.

That's where he always wakes up. Not in a road, not in a field, but in his own bed.

Nobody comes to check if he's okay.

The clock beside him reads 7:00am. Time to wake up.

After a hot shower, he sits in the kitchen and looks towards a vacant seat opposite him on the other side of the wooden table. Dan must have left already, though his leather jacket was still laid over the sofa arm untouched and his boots were still in the hall.

He finishes what is left of his cereal and switches the TV on, flicking past the news channel to Comedy Central. He doesn't watch the news much nowadays.

A key turns in the front door and he leaps up from his seat, running towards the direction of the stairs.

Sure enough, Dan steps through the door to the apartment carrying a Tesco bag, slamming the door behind him with his foot.

Phil sighs in relief and drops to the top step, one hand still clutching the bannister.

Dan locks the door, and turns to face Phil with a puzzled expression.

"Ermm… Phil what are you doing?" He swipes his fringe away from his forehead and walks up the stairs towards his friend, stopping a few meters in front of his feet. "It's freezing today and I forgot my jacket. I knew I should have worn my boots too, it's raining and my feet are soaked in these"

"I…err…" He hesitated. "I had that nightmare again. I got worried when I saw you weren't here." His pale blue eyes look up to meet Dan's with anxiety.

"Oh, you mean the one where a murderer broke into the apartment?"

"Yes, that one. It's so realistic." He let go of the bannister and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"I think you watch too many movies Phil. Hey, don't worry about it. I doubt it's ever going to happen." Dan patted Phil on the back as he clambered up the stairs past him.

He couldn't ever tell him the truth. How he feels. The feelings he's been keeping to himself all these years, and the worry of ever losing him. There's too much to lose. If Dan felt the same, he would have shown it. He sees how he acts around the girls he brings back to the apartment, wishing he was them. Wishing Dan looked at him the way he looked at them. He's with Dan constantly. How can he not see?

He asks himself this question every day, brushing off any hope of Dan feeling the same.


End file.
